“Aye, that you do.” The words were hollow.
“I could do with some rest first.” Her eyes sparkled. “I think you could too.”
He should say no. Be the gentleman he purported to be. But he’d be damned if he could resist. If he only had one more night with her, he’d make it a night to remember. Taking her hand, he led her through into the back rooms, finding the bed made up with clean sheets and no sign of dust. Someone had definitely prepared for Minerva’s arrival.
He wished he could say the same—that he had been prepared for her in his life. But he was not. And nor was he prepared for her to leave. Not one wee bit.
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m so glad you’re home.” Minerva’s mother leaned in to embrace her.
Minerva accepted the embrace gratefully. The violet scent of her mother’s perfume wrapped around her. She inhaled the fragrance that was so familiar deeply and smiled to herself.
Her mother pulled back and gripped Minerva’s arms, running her gaze up and down her. She tilted her head. “You look…” She frowned. “You look well.”
Minerva clasped her hands together. She looked different was what her mother meant. Goodness knows, she felt different. She had been back in London for two days and nothing felt the same anymore. The problem was, she could not tell if it was a good or bad thing.
“You must not have worn a hat enough,” Mama scolded gently. She ran a finger over Minerva’s nose. “You have freckles.” Her smile widened. “But it is so nice to see you out of mourning clothes. I thought you were going to wear them quite a while longer.”
“Mary persuaded me it was time to move into colors again.”
Her mother’s gaze narrowed. “And your hair…it is different. Not as…” Mama motioned, as though pulling her hair back very tightly.
Minerva struggled with something to say. After two weeks of trying to style her hair whilst travelling, she had grown used to a more relaxed style. Yes, it did make her look more attractive, but the admiring looks did not bother her so much now. Of course, she was not interested in such looks from any of the men around her.
The heaviness that had weighted her heart since she had returned seemed to grow heavier. The only man she wanted looking at her like that was Lachlan. But as he had said, they hardly knew each other. Admittedly, they had probably spent more time together than many people before they even married. Most women Minerva’s age or younger were lucky if they had a handful of dances with their intended. But that was no reason for her to rush into anything. As she had said, she would write to him and hopefully visit again.
One day.
“Well, regardless of how you look, I’m so glad you’re home safe. I do not know what Grandpapa was thinking sending you all the way to Scotland. Goodness, if I was scared for you, I do not know how you must have felt.”
“I had Mary and Mr. Johnson and Mr. Young, remember?”
Her mother finally shrugged off her jacket and gloves and handed them over to the butler. Tugging out her hat pins and removing her hat, she laid them in the curve of her garment and passed them over too.
“I remember. It did not stop me worrying for you. I would rather your brothers have been able to come with you.” Mama walked through to the drawing room, and Minerva followed. “Hughes, will you bring some tea, please?” she asked the butler.
The butler gave a tip of his head and left the room. Minerva sat opposite her mother on the sofa. How strange it had been to be back in their London townhouse, sitting on elegant but impractical furniture, lying on a luxurious mattress but alone. Though none of the usual fears took hold, she did not relish the lack of a certain person beside her.
“I am sorry I was not here to greet you, darling.” Her mother settled onto her chair and tucked her skirts neatly about herself. “I had to visit Theo.”
“And is all well?”
Mama shrugged. “You know what he is like. He rarely reveals anything. But he will succeed in his task. I cannot imagine why he would not.”
“And the others?” asked Minerva.
“Seth seems to be keeping himself very busy, though whether it is in search of a wife, I do not know. I had a quick letter from Angel telling me that she had arrived safely. I’m certain she will adapt as she is want to do.”
“That is good news.”
“And you? I’m assuming you collected what Grandpapa wanted.”
“I did indeed. And I met with Mr. Barton yesterday. He is satisfied that my task is complete.” Minerva locked her fingers together at the site of her mother’s beaming smile. If only she could feel satisfied with the task well done.
“I am so proud of you, darling. You do not know how I have worried. Did…did your nightmares cause troubles?”
Minerva gave a soft smile. “I had a few troubles, Mama, but I think Grandpapa knew what he was doing when he sent me on this journey.”
Though whether he could have predicted she would meet a Scotsman with whom she had likely fallen in love with, she did not know. Just thinking of him so far away made her heart hurt. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember the kiss he gave her when she left the farmhouse—tender and hesitant. She saw the sadness in his eyes.
“You should be proud of yourself. Perhaps now you shall be up to journeying more.” Her mother pressed her hands together. “Oh, we should have a ball once this is all over. Then you can meet some eligible men.”
Her stomach felt as though it had been filled with rocks, heavy and uncomfortable. But it was not because of the prospect of meeting lots of people and travelling to her brother’s estate for a ball. No, it was because even though she had always regretted not living such a life, now that she was able to, she did not think that was what she wanted.
A crease appeared between her mother’s brows. “Minerva, does that not excite you? Do such things still frighten?”
“You would be surprised at what little does scare me now, Mama. But I will admit, I am not interested in a ball.”
Her mother leaned across and briefly rubbed her hand. “Well, whatever you need, my dear. I am simply glad to have you home.”
Minerva grimaced. It was not that she was not happy to see her mother, but this place had never been a home. It had been a prison. Perhaps she had not realized that until she had been travelling through the wild open spaces of Scotland, but the thought of spending even another day at home sent a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Mama—”
Hughes entered with a tray of tea and biscuits. He laid them down on the table in the center of the room, poured the tea, then retreated to the corner. Mama leaned over and took her cup, adding milk and sugar. Minerva ignored hers. Her heart beat fast with the knowledge of what she needed to do.
“Mama—”she tried again, but the rest of the words stuck in her throat.
“What is it, my dear?”
“I… I do not know if you heard, but Mary was rather ill on the journey.”
“No, how unfortunate. She is well now?”
“Yes, she rested well. We were lucky enough to happen upon a…a farmer who aided us.”
“Well, that is lucky.”
Minerva drew in a breath. “But, you see, there is something I forgot…at the farmhouse.”
Her mother waved a hand. “I am sure whatever it is can be replaced. Or can it not be posted?”
“It cannot be posted.”
“Whatever is it? Was it something valuable?” Her mother lowered the cup to the saucer. “Please tell me Mr. Barton does not have another task for you?”
Minerva shook her head vigorously. “No, nothing like that, but… I feel that I should go back.”
Her mother peered at her. “To Scotland? You wish to travel all the way to Scotland again?”
“Well…” Minerva stared at her hands. “Yes,” she said softly.
When she met her mother’s gaze, it was narrowed and shrewd. Minerva glanced away but could not resist looking back at her mother.
“Does this
farmer have something to do with it?”
“He’s not exactly a farmer as such…”
“So, it is to do with a man?”
She should probably lie to her mother. Try to think of something, anything that would call for her to return to Scotland. It was insanity to go again so soon. She would not even dare ask Mary to accompany her after such a hard journey. There were other servants who could accompany her. It would be exhausting, yet again, but it was no good—all this time travelling home and then finally getting back to London had given her too much time to miss him. It was, it was terrifying—maybe more terrifying than half of her fears—but she needed to know…
She needed to know how Lachlan felt about her. For certain.
Minerva nodded slowly.
Mama took a slow sip of her tea. She lowered the cup with a gentle clatter that made Minerva jump. “I always hoped you might find someone who understands you. Does he?”
“Yes, Mama. He understands me better than anyone.”
“And you believe he loves you? And he will be an honest and good man?” Her mother drew in a breath. “You are not intending to elope, are you?” Her tone became sharp.
“Not at all, I promise. And I know he loves me.”
“Then why did he let you go? Can he not look after you?”
Minerva giggled. “He is a wealthy man indeed. He can certainly look after me. But he believed we needed more time.”
“Time?” Her mother scoffed. “How typically masculine.” She sighed. “I am not certain that I am happy you have been effectively courting without your brother’s permission. But, then, when has anyone in the family ever done anything the normal way?”
“Does this mean you will not object to me returning to Scotland?”
“Have another day or so to rest. It will take you that long to prepare anyway. And you shall go with several servants this time. If this man had time to court you, it sounds as though Mary was not keeping as close an eye on you as she should have done.”
“Yes, Mama.” At this point, Minerva probably would have agreed to taking an entire household of servants. Just so long as she could see Lachlan again. She could not say what would happen when she saw him again, but all she knew was that she must. Nothing would hold her back from the thing she wanted anymore. And she wanted Lachlan more than anything she had ever wanted before.
Chapter Fifteen
Lachlan paused on the hill to glance back at the farmhouse. He could have ridden home, he supposed, but he needed the exercise.
Needed to rid himself of the memories.
No, that was not it. The last thing he wanted to do was forget Minerva. He suspected he’d keep that sweet, English lass in his heart forever, even if she never sent a letter as promised or returned to see him. But if he was to return to life and embrace it just as he had vowed, he could not spend another several weeks thinking of her.
He went to twist away from the view of the farmhouse and paused, scowling. Narrowing his gaze, he watched the vehicle travel briskly along the dry track. He blinked several times and waited for the glinting sun to cease, catching on the livery and masking the crest upon it.
He’d only ever seen one crested vehicle on these roads, and that had been Minerva’s.
Bloody hell. Perhaps it was her brother or a family member, here to call him out. Perhaps they had been found out about. Well, he’d do whatever had to be done to make things right. He very much doubted any of her family would wish him to marry her, so what sort of satisfaction they could expect, he did not know.
His heart slammed hard against his ribcage when the carriage came to a stop outside the farmhouse. His feet were weighted like roots in the ground while he watched the door open. It was Minerva’s family crest, he was certain of it, even from here.
Well, if they wanted a solution, he’d damn well offer for her hand—if she would take it. His farmer’s roots be damned. He could look after Minerva better than anyone else could, he was certain of it now.
A wisp of fabric stepped from the carriage. His heart stilled its pounding and nearly dropped to his toes.
No. It could not be.
Not so soon. Not here. He swiped a hand over his face. She remained there—a vision in cream and yellow, her golden hair catching in the sunlight. Lachlan remained frozen, watching helplessly as she walked up to the farmhouse door and waited.
He saw the door open but did not see the farmer, nor was he near enough to understand their interaction. But he saw when she turned. Saw when she spotted him. She picked up her skirts and turned. Once she started running toward him, his feet unrooted. She neared, and he could make out her smile. Lachlan hastened down the slope toward her.
“Lachlan,” she shouted.
He couldn’t find the words. All he could think about was how much he needed to feel her in his arms again. He picked up the pace, barreling down the hill until he reached her. They crashed together, and he wrapped his arms about her, picking her up and burying his head into the soft curve of her neck. She smelled of soap and flowers. She felt like heaven.
He finally drew back and pressed a kiss to her lips, then her forehead, then her chin, and finally her lips again. Breathless, she grinned at him.
“Whatever are you doing here, lass?” he asked, lowering her to the ground but keeping her close.
“I am glad I found you. I feared you had already returned home, and I realized I had little idea where home is.”
He grimaced. A reminder again that they still did not know everything about each other.
“I was just heading home. Mr. Gordan has no need of me now.”
“No longer playing a farmer?”
“Aye.” He drew back to take in her appearance. She looked a little less ragged than when she’d last been at the farm, but her hair hung wild about her face, and the freckles on her nose remained. She was so beautiful, it hurt. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.
“Is it not obvious?”
“Your grandfather needed you to get something else?”
“No.” She laughed and slid her hands up to cup his face. “I came for you.”
“For me?” He almost choked on the words.
“Aye, for you.” She mimicked his Scottish brogue—rather badly—but it still made him chuckle.
“Does your family know you are here?”
“My mother does.” Minerva nodded toward the carriage. “And as you can see, I have half a household of servants with me.”
Lachlan finally noticed how top heavy the carriage was with men. He imagined the interior was stuffed with maids too. They were all politely keeping their attention elsewhere.
“I could not stay at home a moment longer, Lachlan. Not when you are here.”
“Does that mean—” He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to say the words.
“This journey gave me courage, but you did too. I do not think I would have had the same outcome without you. So, I think…” She took a long inhale. “I think I should have the courage to say that…well…I love you, Lachlan.” She gave a shaky smile. “I understand that we have not known each other that long, and that I come from England and you from Scotland, and we have very different backgrounds. I do not even know how the future would work, only that I would happily go wherever you go and face whatever challenges life throws at us by your side. And—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. If this lass was willing to travel all the way to Scotland for him, he knew he wasn’t wrong. He was good enough for her. And he’d spend every damned day of his life proving that.
“I love you, Min. Maybe from the first moment I saw you, I loved you. Being apart from you has been agony.” He blew out a breath, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders. “You gave me courage, too. To finally embrace what I’ve achieved and not care one wee bit what anyone thinks.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Apart from what you think. That, I care very much about.”
“Well, I think you are the most wonderful man I have ever met. I t
hink you should kiss me more, and I think I would like to remain with you forever.”
“That means you’ll be my wife, does it not?”
She bit down on her lip and grinned. “It does.”
He kissed her firmly, savoring the feel of her before drawing back. “You will be my wife,” he murmured. He laughed and lifted her up into his arms again. “She’s going to be my wife!” he declared to the hills.
“About damned time,” came a shout from the carriage.
Minerva pressed her head against his chest and giggled. “Mr. Johnson insisted on accompanying me again. Wanted to see this happen, apparently.”
“I’d better give them something to see then.” He scooped a hand under her legs and cradled her against him, kissing her until he forgot their audience, forgot anything other than the feel and taste of her, remembering only one thing—that he loved this woman and that she would always be his.
THE END
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Read on for a sample of What’s a Rogue Got To Do With It
Chapter One
Cornwall, 1814
“Bloody hurry up.” The ship’s captain peered down at Knight from the upper deck, moonlight highlighting his strained expression.
Knight merely grunted. Drake only wanted this done so he could be on his way with haste and return to Knight’s sister. Knight grunted again. What his sister saw in Drake, he did not know, but she seemed happy to be his wife. He gripped the wooden crate tighter than he needed to. Didn’t mean he had to be happy about her being married to a rogue.
Air whistled about them, tinged with the flavor of salt. The ping of metal on metal and the creak of wood drifted in with the breeze, punctuating an otherwise silent night. Stillness circulated the ship, the docks empty of the usual bustle of fishermen and the tide carefully nudging the ship from side to side, any power the waves possessed were lost when they entered the long harbor.
Above, an almost full moon gave them most of the light they needed, fingers of frosty light trickling over the fishing village and allowing them to douse the lanterns and ensure they could keep their nighttime activities secret. By day, they would appear legitimate businessmen. By night, and once across the sea to France, they were smugglers—corrupt to the core—the only sort of men able to access France during wartime with no questions asked.
Once a Wallflower, Always a Wallflower (The Inheritance Clause Book 3) Page 10